Dreams Do Come True
by InkweaverMysteria
Summary: Andrew is a dreamer. She spends her young years, indulging herself with fantasy stories, and sometimes, she wishes to enter the worlds of the stories she reads. But a lot of the time, the things you wish for don't always appear to you in the way you want them to.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome writers to my first story published on this site. I've just recently seen the movie Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and I absolutely love it. The following night, I had a dream about it. Though most of it made no sense what so ever, I have written the majority of the dream down and turned it into a story for you to enjoy. All characters in this chapter are made up by myself, and other names that are mentioned that may seem familiar most likely are and are not property of me. You get the memo. So, without further-a-do, This is the story. I will update as often as I can, or if you prefer me not to, leave comments, please! All critiques are welcome and highly recommended. **

**Chapter 1**

"This is the last time!" I tell myself as I close my favorite book for what seems like the hundredth time tonight. I have read it more than once, more than a few times, actually. I can't help myself, only because I love stories about vampires, but more so about things that were never meant to be, but are toyed with anyway. When the re-written, fantasy- fiction version of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies was released (or found I should say), I couldn't put it down. Now Mr. Grahame-Smith, with his glorious fan fictional gifts, has written another book called Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, the unanswered myth of one of our greatest presidents. Though I know this story could never possibly be true, it fills me with the satisfaction that someone else out there feels the need to saturate silly dreams of young women, like myself, with wondrous stories. I, like so many others, couldn't help but daydream about being a vampire when I was younger. I know now, vampires are really not all that they are cracked up to be: they live for eternity, they must feed on other living things for blood, and they are always being hunted, in ever story I've ever read.

I know I could not live for eternity. I want to die someday, as every one does. There are too many things I do not wish to see that I know will happen after my lifetime. Just the idea of living while the relatives and the friends that I love all die around me is a heartbreaking thought. I wouldn't want that. To live eternally alone, that is an undesirable thought, and never could I turn another person into what I am, if I were a vampire. I could never hurt another living thing, let alone feed on one. My mother always wondered why a vegetarian could be so fascinated by vampires. "You know what they eat, right?" my mother asked the first day I brought home a vampire book. Of course I hadn't, but that didn't stop me from reading them.

I've read them all, from Twilight to Vampire Academy to Japanese Animation, and more. I almost started writing my own vampire story once, but there was so much about vampires I didn't know, I couldn't finish it. Plus, I wasn't the best writer anyway, still being in Middle School and all. I'd like to think my writing skill has improved. I drabble and write short stories when I feel the need, which I sometimes let friends read, and of course they tell me I am incredible, but only because they are my friends. I know I can't be that good.

I set the book I have just finished on the table beside my bed and yawn. Looking at the time, it doesn't surprise me to learn it is nearly two in the morning. I often stay up late to read, whether a favorite book or a simple magazine. My mother has given up on setting a bedtime for me, because she knows even though I am in bed, I can't fall directly asleep unless I read first. A few years ago, my father bought me a bible to read at night. "It's better to fill your dreams with the Word than silly fantasy stories," he says, and sometimes I agree, but I know for a fact that someone can't control their dreams by what they read at night. When I have nightmares from some of the books I read, I like reading my bible then, and I know it pleases my father to see me reading it.

I get up from underneath the covers of my bed and walk into my bathroom. The lights are still on; I leave the bathroom lights on so I can read, and they don't reflect into the hallway like my ceiling lights do, so my mother doesn't always catch me up so late. I have a lot of lotions and cosmetics in my bathroom, thanks to my perfectionist mother. Being an actress, my mother always tries to look her best, no matter where she goes, and she's always buying me make-up, and skin care lotions, and hair products so I can too. I'm not saying I complain about it, but it does get a little annoying, because I know looking my best isn't the most important thing I should worry about.

Though my skin is near perfect, my hair is long, curly, and flawless, and I have the body of a trained acrobat, I don't get as much attention in school as my mother thinks I do, though I don't make it a point to attract others, either. I tend to keep to myself during my classes, spending more time than needed in the library, and hardly any time on campus after classes are over. I don't have that many friends, but what friends I do have are about as 'low profile' as I am.

My best friend is a beautiful, Hispanic girl named Jacquelyn. We've known each other ever since she stole my spot in line to get my favorite Black Widow comic signed by Stan Lee at Comic Con, seventeen years ago. It had to be the best day of my life. Some of my other friends include two of the nerdiest twins I have ever met, Bradley and Jason Cooper (They remind me so much of the twins from Harry Potter, I always call them Weasley Boys.), and another comic loving geek named Marissa.

Over the past three years, I've spent almost all of my time with my friends, going to college parties, watching the Big Bang Theory on weeknights, and sometimes traveling to New York for Comic Con. A couple years ago, the five of us went to the Avengers Panel in New York City, which turned out to be one of the best Comic Cons in the history of the world. I remember the bet each of us made that whoever's questions get answered first or answered at all wouldn't have to drive on the way back home or pay for any of the food or gas. Marissa won the bet.

I sigh and look at myself in the mirror. What I see is not at all different from what I'm use to seeing, just a twenty-two year old woman dressed in fuzzy blue pajama pants and a black tank top. I don't have any jewelry on, though I hardly ever do, nor am I wearing make-up at this time. In routine, I apply night lotion to my skin and brush my long, dark hair into a high bun for the night. Its hard to confess, but the one thing I hate about my body the most is that my head tends to sweat during the night, and I know if I don't put my hair up it'll be drenched when I wake in the morning. Satisfied by the tightness of my hair bun, I turn off the lights and go back to bed.

Even though I was just in bed, the bed sheets are freezing and goose bumps appear all over my skin as I slide under the covers. It's a warm summer night, yet three large comforters pile on top of me. I've always slept this way, since before I can remember. I have a low tolerance for the cold, only because I hardly have any natural body heat, though I never knew why. When I was younger, I always thought it was because I was a vampire. Kids at school teased me for it, and my mother and father were concerned by it. Of course, I know better now, but one never wishes to stop pretending. One always wishes, as I still do every night, but never about the same thing.

I wish for all sorts of things: to die only from old age, to never loose a family pet, that someday I will find a loving husband, like my father is to my mother. Sometimes I wish to be part of one of the books I read, to be the character of someone else's story. I wish I could create my own world and live amongst the things of my imagination. Some nights, I dream of it.

I dream the stories I write are real. I dream I am a different person with a different name, living in some strange world, a world that I control. I can do what I want, be anyone I want to be, I can meet anyone I choose, travel wherever I want to go, and it never stops. Until I wake up, and then my traitorous mind reminds me that nothing is real. It's a reincarnated heartbreak.

I shake those thoughts away for now. Whatever I dream of tonight won't be too much of a heartbreak, because I know I have a big day ahead of me. With the exams of the final semester arriving around the corner, I know tomorrow will be a busy day of studying and writing. The idea of giving a speech in Public Speaking makes me tremble, but not as bad as the thoughts of performing for Solo and Ensemble next week. I won't be singing, but I do play the piano parts for two of the songs, and though I've been practicing for weeks, I feel a bit nervous thinking about it. I close my eyelids after attempting to remember the names to the two pieces of music, turning out unsuccessful.

I'm too tired to think anymore. Wrapping the covers close to me, I sigh and snuggle close to my pillow. At will, my mind wonders back to the book on my bedside table and a small smile stretches across my face. I wonder what would happen if I ever met a vampire. If it were trying to kill me, I think, I would scream and run for my life, of course. Then I think of vampires like Henry Sturges, the creature seeking redemption in the tale of Abraham Lincoln. What would I do in the case of meeting him?

I often find myself drawn to the side characters of most books, not because of their lack of core interest, but because of the way they are portrayed. In Henry's case, it is the representation of the character that attracts me. The implication of his actions serves only the well being of mankind and not his own need for revenge. Not many characters, I find, are as strongly composed as Henry Sturges. Bless you for that, Seth Grahame-Smith.

The thoughts in my mind begin to feel hazy as I'm slowly drifting to sleep. Sighing peacefully, I think no more of vampires, or school, or of the names of some music. That is, until I am jolted awake suddenly by the sound of a loud thump outside my window. My heart is racing and I quickly clutch onto my blankets for assurance that I am still in my bed. The room is silent now, but my body is no longer tired. Breathing calmly to slow the beating of my heart, I rise from my bed.

I stand in front of my window, wondering what the noise could have been. Perhaps it was a bird, which means it's probably badly hurt after the hitting my window so hard. Then I think, maybe it was just a twig or something that fell in the current of the wind. Or maybe someone is down below, throwing rocks to get my attention, like in the romantic stories. I nudge away the last thought, knowing it can't be that, but I grow worried at the thought of it possibly being a bird. To make sure, I open my bedroom window and peer down below.

The porch lights are still on, I notice, and I can see the entire back yard. I search the freshly cut grass for any sign of a bird, or a boy, but can see neither option. I simply shrug my shoulders and turn back to my bed. There's nothing for me to worry about, I think. As soon as I'm facing my bed, I hear it again. I stop, chills running through my entire body. I am too afraid to turn around. What if there is a burglar or something. I don't stay too long to find out. I run across my room to the door, grabbing my warm, white robe before exiting the room.

I sprint down the hall to my parent's bedroom. Before knocking, I hear the sound again. I am terrified by this point. I knock three times on the bedroom door, each with seconds apart from each other. After, complete silence fills the hall. No one answers me. "Mom?" I call. No answer. I knock again, louder this time. "Dad, please open up. I need to talk to you." But no one answers my call. Where are they? I think for a moment that they might be outside, sitting on the porch. That would explain why the lights were on. I sigh and race down the stairs, my robe soaring behind me.

The house is completely dark and silent. This isn't too unfamiliar, but never have I recalled my child hood home being _this_ quiet. Not stopping for even a second, I march to the sliding doors leading out to the porch. Opening one, I peek outside and see neither of my parents. Their lawn chairs are sitting empty on the lawn, so I know they were there at some point.

Before closing the door, I hear my mother's laughter and I see my parents walking toward the line of trees, perfectly arranged at the edge of our yard. I sigh with relief, and suddenly wonder what they are doing out so late. Ignoring the possibilities for now, I quickly make my way to them, not taking my eyes away from them for a second. My mother must have heard me coming because she turns to me, smiling in concern. "Can't sleep, Sweetheart?" she asks. I am about to answer her when I hear a high _tweet_ at my feet. I look down and see a small bird, hopping around the ground with one of his wings. So a bird did run into my window, I think, and then wonder about the other thumps. Was it a family of suicidal birds?

I try and pick up the bird, but he hops away, tweeting hysterically. "Oh, leave him be, Dear," My father tells me, but I pursue the bird anyway. When I finally have him in my hands, I look back up at my parents, smiling in triumph, but my mother and father are no longer there. I gasp, looking around the yard. "Mom? Dad?" I don't see them anywhere. Cursing under my breath, I realize they snuck away behind the line of trees. "Come on, guys." Setting the bird down again, I quickly follow them. What are they up to, anyway?

I push my way past the trees, getting a few scratches in the process. The branches seem to take a hold of me, entwining themselves in my hair. I force myself free, ignoring the fact that my hair tie is now stuck somewhere in the tangled twigs. When my feet find cement on the other side, I am met with an empty sidewalk on either side of me. The street light above me is not on, which frightens me a great deal. I pull my robe close to me and call for my parents. Tears are threatening to seep through the corners of my eyes. I am petrified, not knowing if I should go back to the house or attempt to find my parents. I wonder more why my mother and father are trying to hide from me and where they are going. I suddenly wish I had my bible with me.

Without a straight decision in my head, my feet start walking down the right side of the sidewalk, as if my mind no longer has connection to tell them to stop. My heart is beating in a pace that scares me; I can feel it pumping in my throat. The cold air sends shivers down my back. I pull my robe tighter, but it does little help against my fear. Every few seconds I call for my mother and father, but neither of them answers me. Tears are rolling down my cheeks. I hate this!

The next thing I know, I turn around a corner to a street I don't recognize even though I have lived on this block my entire life. I think about turning around, but my feet do not obey my wish. They trudge on, leading me into a dark fog that settles up ahead of my path. All I want is to go home. Screw my parents. They would leave me here in an unknown place to fend for myself. I hate them. I tremble slightly and wrap my arms around each other. I call for my mother again in a hoarse voice. I wish I could find them.

Behind me, a twig snaps and I stop when the sound of footsteps draws near to me. I hear them creeping behind me for a few seconds, and then they stop, as does the beating of my heart. I hold my breath feeling as if the world is suddenly spinning around me. I close my eyes, wishing I could just be in my room. Then the footsteps continue, quicker this time. As if some urge awakens inside me, I open my eyes and run. I run as fast as I can in a direction I am not sure will lead me anyway. I want to scream, but no sound comes out of my mouth. I can't hear anything but the low breathing of the thing that is following me, and I know it's getting close. I try and run faster, but my entire body feels like it's going to fall apart. I spin around another corner, nearly out of breath. My sides feel crunched, like they're slowing caving in, crushing my ribs, and the pain in my feet is too unbearable for me to continue running. All I can think about is how much I hate my parents.

And then, it happens. All the breath inside my lungs is released with one single gasp and I'm surprisingly no longer running, but falling. The ground comes up to meet me in a swift movement, yet it almost feels like the world is moving in slow motion. I'm too late to bring my arms out in front of my face to protect it from the cold, hard cement. I slightly turn my head as the sidewalk smacks into my cheek. I feel my teeth cutting into the inside of my mouth and fresh blood running over my tongue. As I lie there, pain takes over my entire body. I feel dizzy and tired. My breath is gone, but I can't bring myself to inhale. Though the blow to my head feels horrible, there is a deeper, excruciating pain in my left shoulder.

With what strength I have remaining in my body, I flip myself on my back. The pain in my shoulder screams at me and I cry out in anguish. Then I realize, as I glance at the blood stained on the upper-left side of my robe, that I had been shot. Whoever was following me obviously could not catch up, so they shot me to bring me down. I grew even more terrified at understanding this. I tightly closed my eyes as my mind caught up with the rest of the pain in my body. I could taste blood in my mouth, but could not bring myself to spit it out.

I finally remembered how to breathe in that moment. I gasped for air, tears running down the sides of my face, as the footsteps that had pursued me stop at my side. I can't open my eyes to look upon my attacker. I can't even plea for my life. Even though my eyelids are closed and all I can see is darkness, I feel nauseous and a sour grumble arouses in my stomach. I think I'm going to puke.

As I wait for whoever attacked me to pick me up, rape me, do something, I'm holding my breath. I wait for what seems like hours. Maybe it was hours, but nothing happens. When I finally open my eyes, I look around the sidewalk, which I am confined to, but see absolutely no one. I slowly rise to a sitting position, searing pain running through my entire left side, and look around at a better angle. There is no one there, not a single person in sight. For a moment I think I'm going crazy. There had to have been someone, I think. Who else could have shot me?

I glance at the wound in my shoulder, peeling away the soaked robe from my reddened skin. The gouge where the bullet had ripped me open is deep, but I can't feel a bullet remaining there. I figure it simply ripped me open and flew out the other side, but the pain I feel is horrible. I slowly rise to my feet, wobbling as I do. I feel a sticky wetness from the line of my hair all the way to my neck and realize where I had hit my head on the sidewalk is also bleeding pretty badly. I am in loads of pain and wish more than anything to find my parents.

I begin to walk back in the direction I had come as quickly as my aching feet can manage. How did this happen to me? Why would my folks let this happen to me? What kind of parents are they, anyway? I think, after I get home, I'm going to move in with Jacquelyn to finish college.


	2. Chapter 2

I have been walking for hours. I don't know where I am or where I'm supposed to go. Though I am sure I'm still in the neighborhood I grew up in, I am hopelessly lost. Not a single house on this block looks familiar. I wonder if I have fallen into some sort of second dimension while running away for my life. Maybe that was my stalker's intention, to lead me into this third world to get lost in so no one would hear me screaming when he finds me again. I shiver at the thought, then groan in pain and clench tightly onto my left forearm. Honestly, the hurt I feel all over my body is the only thing I care about right now. The thought of different dimensions seems ludicrous. I know I'm just tired. Once I get back to my house, I'll be alright. At least I hope.

The thought of my house sends a wave of misery through me. Will I ever get back home? Some part of me thinks I should have found it by now. There is still terror inside me from fear ever never getting back home, from never finding my parents, bleeding to death in this unfamiliar place with no one around to help me, but mostly from whoever was chasing me. Is here still out there? The thought makes my skin crawl.

As I walk around another corner, I realize I have gone in a complete circle from where I started, but my house is not on this side of the street. It has to be! I spin around at least twenty times, searching up and down for my childhood home. All the houses look the same on this block: quiet, dark, and creepy, but none of them mine. In a fit, I run (more like limp) up and down the street. Then something else strange happens. Where I know my house should be, I come across a cemetery instead. I know it was not there just a moment ago. I think I'm going crazy. That's it. I have to be out of my mind. None of this is real! I tell myself. My heart hurts from the rate that it's beating, like I'm about to have a heart attack. I feel about ready to collapse, but not before something else catches my eye.

In the thick fog of the cemetery, hovering over one of the graves stands a dark figure. I know it has to be a man. He's dressed in dark clothes with a top hat sitting on his head. For a moment, I think I'm having a nightmare. Did I walk into a set from Jeepers Creepers? Then I hear a loud clanking noise and I notice the man not only standing over the grave, but digging in it. I watch in horror as he throws a small shovel aside and pulls the dead body of a young girl from the ground. I'm in too much pain to run, too shocked to move at all. I hold my breath, for too long. I feel lightheaded and my body wobbles in the swirl of my surroundings. Because I have little strength left in me, I fall to my knees with a big _thump_. When I hit the cement, I hear a low growl in the direction of the cemetery. I know I've been spotted, but my body won't allow me to get up and run. I know it's already too late.

My stalker returns to my side. I sense him before I hear him, a cold aura flows from his body into the night air and surrounds me. My body trembles in response, and somehow I know he's smiling. I feel his foul breath on the back of my neck. Then he grabs me by the arm and I cry out in pain. He lifts me only so he can flip me over on my back, and I fall back on the hard cement with a full slam. I groan, because that's all I can do. I am in so much pain. I wish I could just die. Something tells me dying may come sooner than I had expect.

The man bends down by my face and I close my eyes so tightly there is an instant ache in my head. I feel his breath on my face. It smells horrible, like a mixture of rotting flesh and wet dog. Tears run down my cheeks and I whimper a plea. The creep covers my mouth to keep me from calling out. His nails, feeling like razor sharp talons, dig deep into the side of my face. With his other hand, he strokes my hair. They're both so cold.

"Oh, shhh, Darling. It'll be over soon," he tells me, with a hint of joy in his voice. I'm disgusted by it. I think he knows, because he laughs. "Would've got you sooner. Oh, yes. That…bastard…." He trails off and mumbles and rants for a little bit, I can't understand a word. Then he starts to sob, like a sick, stubborn child. Before I can guess what's happening, he grabs my wounded shoulder and pulls me toward him. I scream in agony. The pain shoots through my entire left side, but I can do nothing to stop it. He pulls me close to his face, and I try my hardest to prevent touching him, stretching my head away from him. "You're MINE! You're so…beautiful." He says and I try not to throw up from the smell of his breath.

My hair falls off my shoulders and dangles to the ground, leaving my outstretched neck bare. He stares at me for a long time and I can feel my heart pumping the blood through my body. The pain in my shoulder is numb, and for a second I think I am going to pass out. I feel the psycho's breath on my skin and his lips stretch over my neck. He kisses me and for a moment I feel faded, like a static wall has risen between me and the rest of the world. I don't know what this man thinks he's doing, but I'm too terrified to want to know. Then he does something I do not expect. His face, pale and old, turns to the wound in my shoulder, blood dripping and dried down my entire arm, from my shoulder to the tips of my fingers. For a moment he stares at it, licking his lips. And then he lunges, forcing my head away, and digs his saliva dripping lips into the gash in my shoulder. I scream in both terror and pain. His teeth, sharp as needles, tear away at the bloody flesh, licking my skin almost dry. I can't comprehend what is happening to me. I wish at this moment that someone would come to save me. Anyone.

Releasing my sight from behind my eyelids for a single second, something immediately grabs my attention. I see another figure appear from the thick fog of the street and he walks in my direction, but more calmly than I like. He slowly strides across the empty street, a small gust of wind flowing through the bottom of his long coat. I begin to wonder if my mind is withering away or if the newcomer is simply walking in slow motion. Just as I feel my attacker's teeth glide over to the bare skin of my neck, blood dripping from his hanging tongue like some ferocious dog, the man making his way toward me suddenly disappears.

In one quick movement, I feel a squall of wind pass over me and suddenly I am free. I fall back flat on the ground in shock of my freedom, but feel slightly relieved of the massive pain in my shoulder. The hard cement is cold against my thin shirt, but I don't move, not even an inch. The realization that I possibly almost died is all I can think about. My heart throbs inside my chest worse than before, it hurts.

Beside me I hear snarling and a loud _thud_ after _thud_. I don't have the strength to turn my head to see what has happened to the psycho and the man who appeared to help me. I close my eyes again and try to relax. I know I am not safe yet, but I can't bare the pain any longer. Hopefully I can fall asleep and wake up in my bed, and everything will all just disappear. I hope in vein.

After what appears to be hours (it was only a few seconds) I feel like the ground disperse beneath me, like gravity has chosen to no longer exist, and I'm suddenly floating. I open my eyes to some extent, but not enough to take in the full figure that I realize is carrying me. Whether it is the psycho or my rescuer, I'm not entirely sure. I figure it is the man that came to save me, sense it's obvious I'm not dead. The pain in my shoulder grows exceedingly restless as my arm brushes against the man's coat. He walks only a few short steps away and I plead with him in my head to move faster in fear of the one who tried to kill me.

A sound comes to my ears then, a terrible sound. I feel my heart pounding in my chest, but not as fiercely as before, possibly too tired to do so. Then I realize the sound is coming from my holder. I feel his body trembling against me, shaking as violently as one who has fallen through an ice-captivated lake. I look up to see his dark face. He is crying, weeping so profoundly it sends tears to my own eyes. I don't understand. All I can think about is what will happen to me.

Then he all but falls to his knees on the hard cement below, holding me so close to him, that I were to ever touch the ground again than it would be the end of him. I open my eyes wider and study the darkness of my savior's face. The shadows are too dark for me to see anything, let alone this man's features, even in the bright, ashen moonlight. All I can make out is the ruffled, dark hair on his head and some specks of stubble brushing along the lit parts of his cheeks. His face is dark, his eyes are even darker. I feel a tear fall on my nose and blink several times from its after splash. The man continues to weep, not saying a single word to me. He just holds me, like I'm the most precious thing in the world to him. He buries his face in my hair, and I think he kisses me several times. I'm too weak and shocked to care.

This goes on for a few minutes and I almost fall asleep. I take in a small breath; it's all I can manage. "I…want…to go home," I mumble, hoarsely and without much effort. At first I don't know if he hears, then almost instantly the man lifts me from his lap and back into the air. I'm slightly startled, and I cling to him for my life. He slightly limps as he walks, clasping me in his strong arms. I feel safe there, pressed against him. I don't know if this man knows where I live, but I don't ask. I just want to go away. I want to feel completely safe, out of the night. I drift off to sleep, but only for a moment it seems.

I open my eyes again and find myself instantly wrapped in warm blankets in the most comfortable bed I had ever laid in. The comforter feels soft, almost like silk, and though the room I'm in is dark and silent, I finally feel safe. I think that I'm back in my bed, that what had happened was only just a dream. I close my eyes again and sigh peacefully. _What a strange dream_, I think as I slowly drift back to sleep.

I wake some time later, not able to tell if it is morning yet. The room around me is still dark, and the world still seems quiet. I shift my head to the other side of the pillow, sighing loudly. I wonder what time it is and then I try to rise from my bed. I stop.

Pain. All I can feel is pain. It runs through my whole body and I collapse back into the bed, holding my arm in agony. I don't understand. What has happened to me? Nothing in this dark room reveals itself; I have no answers. I can't move another inch, but now I feel a rough material wrapped around my shoulder, and another on my head. Bandages most likely. The things I had thought to only be a dream come back to mind, and I come to a horrifying realization that I'm not dreaming. I start to cry. I am terrified, from both the understanding of my situation and the pain in my body. Without a second thought, I cry out in terror. I want someone to help me. I need someone to help me. And then I think, maybe it wasn't such a good idea.

I grow silent when I hear the creak of old stairs. Someone is coming and I suddenly can't breath. I want to know where I am, who has captured me, but more importantly, what will happen next. Silence takes over. I hide in the comfort of the soft planets as if they could save me from my fate. And then, like lightning, the door swings open and standing in the doorway is the dark figure of a man. He doesn't move. He just stares. He whispers something, but I can't hear. He comes closer, and whispers again.

"Edeva," He says. I don't say anything in return. His voice is cracked and weak, and I know he's been crying again. The figure comes to lay by my side. I don't move away. I'm too scared to. "Edeva," he says. "You've come back to me."

His hand caresses my cheek and I jolt back at its coldness. Everything is cold; I can feel it towering over me. Something horrible. He reaches for me again, but this time I don't move away. I pass out.


End file.
